Culture, Politics, Etc.

After President Trump’s disastrous summit with Russian Vladimir Putin in Helsinki, I contacted my congressman, Rep. Earl Blumenauer, asking him to immediately draw up articles of impeachment against the president. I said in my letter:

…our president betrayed his oath by openly pledging his fealty, trust, and service to an antagonist state that deliberately took aim at our democracy. Call me crazy, but when our founders granted Congress the power of impeachment, I’m pretty sure they were thinking about a scenario that looks an awful lot like this one.

Today I called the congressman’s office and was dismayed to learn that Rep. Blumenauer will not be pursuing impeachment because “the votes are not there.” This misses the larger point: by drawing up articles of impeachment, we make the Constitutional and moral argument for impeachment. We are invited onto cable news programs, we make our case to the American people, and we use the impeachment argument as a spearhead for a long and sustained strategic attack. This is is the kind of strategy that the right has employed to achieve remarkable political success – success that stands in stark contrast to their relatively small numbers. Rep. Blumeauer’s aid couldn’t even articulate the congressman’s strategy in moving forward. It was a depressing conversation.

Senator Merkley, you’ve consistently shown that you’re willing to move ahead of the pack and take risks in the name of progressive leadership. Will you, publicly and immediately, urge the House of Representatives to draw up articles of impeachment against President Donald J. Trump? And will you call upon the Oregon congressional delegation to take a lead on this matter? It’s hardly an overstatement to say that we are in the midst of a constitutional crisis. The Democratic Party must take bold and immediate steps to become the protagonist in this unfolding political narrative and earn its way back to power.

My letter to the congressman is attached and below. Thanks so much for your time and your service. I sincerely look forward to hearing from you.

An open letter to my congressman. I urge him to draw up articles of impeachment against President Donald J. Trump. I will not vote for my congressman in November if he doesn’t. Please consider writing a similar letter to your representative. If they don’t do their job, they don’t deserve your vote.You can find your representative’s contact information here.

Dear Congressman,

Yesterday in Helsinki, the President of the United States of America stood in front of the world and pledged his allegiance to the leader of a hostile foreign power. He willfully and deliberately ignored the verifiable conclusions of our intelligence agencies. In 2016, Russia actively and maliciously moved against our democratic republic by interfering in our elections. Yet our president chose to believe the “strong and powerful” denial of Russian President Vladimir Putin, rather than accept the findings of the CIA and FBI.

Congressman Blumenaeur, I call upon you, as a duly elected member of the House of Representatives, to immediately draw up articles of impeachment against President Donald J. Trump. Article I, Section 2 grants the House this sole power. There are only 435 people in this country who can begin impeachment proceedings, and you are one of those people.

Let’s be clear: I’m not demanding impeachment because I disagree with the president’s tax policies. Or because of his opposition to affordable healthcare. Or his hostility to safe and legal abortions. Or his flagrant misogyny and racism. Or even his despotic and deliberately cruel policy of deporting foreigners he doesn’t like while separating them from their children.

No. These are issues best adjudicated by legislation and free and fair elections.

Helsinki is something else. Yesterday, our president betrayed his oath by openly pledging his fealty, trust, and service to an antagonist state that deliberately took aim at our democracy. Call me crazy, but when our founders granted Congress the power of impeachment, I’m pretty sure they were thinking about a scenario that looks an awful lot like this one.

Your public record shows that you’ve given the matter some thought. Now is the time for action. There are at least two foundations upon which articles of impeachment might be drawn:

Treason

Former CIA Director John Brennan said, “Donald Trump’s press conference performance in Helsinki rises to & exceeds the threshold of ‘high crimes & misdemeanors.’ It was nothing short of treasonous.” True, legal experts disagree about the threshold of treason as outlined in the United States Constitution’s Article III, Section 3: “Treason against the United States, shall consist only in levying war against them, or in adhering to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort.” While there is no formal declaration of war between the United States and Russia, an attack on our electoral process may – and should – be construed as an act of warfare. And President Trump has certainly adhered to our enemy and given it aid and comfort. You can, should, and must make the case for treason.

Obstruction of Justice

On May 9, 2017, President Trump fired FBI Director James Comey. Two days later, he explained his reason in an interview with NBC’s Lester Holdt:

But regardless of [the] recommendation, I was going to fire Comey…And in fact when I decided to just do it I said to myself, I said, “You know, this Russia thing with Trump and Russia is a made-up story, it’s an excuse by the Democrats for having lost an election that they should’ve won.”

By the president’s own admission, he fired Director Comey because of the FBI’s investigation into Russia’s interference in the 2016 election. This is obstruction of justice, a “high crime and misdemeanor” if ever there was one, an impeachable offense under the Constitution’s Article II, Section 4.

As a member of the House, it is your job to draw up articles of impeachment. As your constituent, it’s my job to make sure that you do. In a liberal democracy, the most meaningful power I have is my vote.

For that reason, I will not vote for you this November unless you do everything in your power to work for President Trump’s impeachment. He must be removed from office. Perhaps you’ll point to your stellar record as a progressive Democrat and say that mine shouldn’t be a single issue vote. Or maybe you don’t want to antagonize the likes of Leaders Nancy Pelosi and Chuck Schumer, who’ve both made it clear that impeachment is off the table. Or maybe you think that Democrats shouldn’t overplay their hand right before an election.

Bullshit. Our founders are howling from the grave through the psychic medium of our Constitution, through which they have empowered you and every other member of the House to respond to this unprecedented crisis forcefully and without equivocation.

For decades, my grandfather worked in management at the Hanford Nuclear Reservation, both during and after the war; upon retiring, he held the office of AHRCO Vice President. He and I had many political disagreements. I know that he sometimes wondered if he was leaving the world in better shape than he found it. But I never questioned my grandfather’s patriotism. He consistently – and knowingly – put his own health and safety at risk because he believed that America was worth the fight. That we stand for something important, immutable, and indomitable. That when America is attacked, she responds with force.

America is under attack. It’s time to respond with force.

I promise that I’ll have your back. With that in mind, I’m urging everyone I know, Democrat, Republican, or otherwise, to withhold their votes from any Congressional candidate who fails to actively advance the cause of the impeachment of President Donald J. Trump. And – more importantly – to give our full throated support to those who fight for it.

No more expressions of outrage. No more rants on Facebook or Twitter. We can’t wait for Robert Mueller. The time to act is now.

I don’t read The Huffington Post to have my opinions challenged. I read The Huffington Post to have my opinions confirmed. Or at least massaged with a recap of the latest SNL sketch or last night’s rant from Samantha Bee. So imagine how I felt when I started reading a piece from HuffPost that began with a warning. It read:

I know this is going to piss a lot of people off, but so be it.

U-oh. That certainly did sound like trouble, now, didn’t it? Here was hard hitting journalism that refused to pull its punches. The Huffington Post wouldn’t be massaging any of my left-of-center prejudices. Not this time. Thus, I’d been duly warned. Yet I decided to ignore that warning. And that’s where my troubles began.

With the 2016 presidential election more than a month behind us, it is incredible that anyone’s still looking for someone to blame for Hillary Clinton’s upset defeat. Right minded liberals and progressives might instead want to fortify the castle against that fire-breathing dragon, Donald Trump. The title of the HuffPost article tries to answer the wrong question: “Who’s responsible for Hillary Clinton’s loss?” when liberals and lefties should be asking: “Why and how did Donald Trump win?”

But if we start to answer that question, well…then we might start really pissing people off. We might look back on the last year and a half and get a little introspective. We might reflect upon our own classist condescension towards all those stupid Donald Trump supporters, and wonder how we got it all wrong. We might even get a little bit pissed at ourselves.

Naah. I sure didn’t do anything wrong. Why not just point the finger at somebody else? It is time, my friends, for the Narrative of Blame.

Now, to be fair to Max Weiss, the author of the Hillary Clinton Huffington Post piss-off piece, his list of villains isn’t entirely unreasonable. In casting blame for Clinton’s loss, Weiss mentions voter suppression, without a doubt the most alarming and pernicious threat to what’s left of our tottering democracy. Weiss also blames misogyny, writing:

…they see (Clinton) as shrill and scolding and corrupt ― not sufficiently warm, not the kind of person they want to grab a beer with.

But the article is riddled with inconsistency and laziness. For one thing, Weiss blames the election results on Clinton’s campaign, while going out of his way to let Clinton herself off the hook. This bizarrely – though perhaps unintentionally – suggests that someone other than HRC was in charge of her own presidential bid. Perhaps Hillary’s detractors aren’t the only sexists in the room.

Still, that’s just bad and careless writing, no shock to those of us familiar with the work of The Huffington Post. So where’s the piss-off? Where are the audacious and offensive claims that necessitate such a dire trigger warning? For that, I direct you to Weiss’s arch-villains, the scourges of left-of-center liberalism and spoilers of 2016:

Bernie Sanders and Jill Stein.

As I told you, Weiss pulls no punches. So as I reprint his argument, let me also reprint his warning:

I know this is going to piss a lot of people off, but so be it.

Here’s what Weiss has to say:

BERNIE SANDERS

I think Sanders, who fortified the recurring narrative that Hillary was a corrupt neoliberal and part of a rigged system, did more damage than anyone else. He turned millions of young people against Hillary — and countless independents, no doubt, too.

Yes, he ultimately campaigned for Hillary, but did so half-heartedly, through pursed lips and slumped body language, bashing Trump but rarely praising Hillary. One could almost see the thought bubble over his head: “This should’ve been me.”

JILL STEIN

That publicity-seeking, bourgeois woman gave disenchanted Bernie or Busters a place for their protest vote, and continued the absurd narrative that Hillary was just as bad as Trump.

And then, just for good measure:

You’re on my list too, Susan Sarandon.

Let’s put aside how Clinton’s bid for the White House was derailed by Sarandon, an actress whose most recent high-profile film was a cameo in Zoolander 2. Instead, let’s look at Weiss’s principle scapegoats: Vermont Senator Bernie Sanders, Clinton’s major rival in the 2016 Democratic primary, and Dr. Jill Stein, who ran as the Green Party candidate.

If you voted for Clinton or Sanders or (psst! Don’t tell anyone, but I’m voting for) Stein, you’re probably familiar with the Narrative of Blame, which goes something like this: Hillary Clinton had a great shot at becoming our 45th president. She came to her historic bid for the job with impressive and even unprecedented qualifications. The Republican field was full of crazy, ignorant, sexist, racist, xenophobic demagogues – with the exception of Jeb Bush, the David Brooks of electoral politics. No election was more important than this one. So Clinton had to become president. Not only that: she deserved it.

But like a brood of miscreant brats at Thanksgiving dinner, the Left just wouldn’t stay at the kids’ table and shut up and behave. Led by that cantankerous democratic socialist Bernie Sanders (not even a Democrat!), these misinformed millennials and radicals couldn’t see the big picture. Let’s look back at Weiss’s condescending language:

(Sanders) turned millions of young people against Hillary — and countless independents, no doubt, too.

“Turned against” her, huh? How dare Sanders ruin Clinton’s spotless track record with the Left? If only those young people had thought for themselves. Or, better yet, thought like Max Weiss.

Continuing the Narrative of Blame: Clinton ultimately prevailed in the primaries, and Sanders begrudgingly offered up his support. But he was so half-assed. He didn’t really want her to win. And Democratic (not to be confused with democratic) victory was so important, because Clinton wasn’t squaring off against anyone. Her opponent was Donald Fucking Trump: a cynical robber baron whose exploits beggar a Warren Harding wet dream. And then Jill Stein, that “publicity-seeking, bourgeois woman,” (strike 2, Mr. Weiss: you might want to check out your ownmisogyny, buddy) had to come along and ruin it all by giving those bratty young Lefties someone who they actually wanted to vote for. Hillary Clinton could have won. Hillary Clinton should have won. But thanks to vote-stealing party poopers like Bernie Sanders, Jill Stein, and their self-absorbed, misguided followers, Hillary Clinton didn’t win. She lost.

Sound familiar? Like most compelling and persuasive narratives, the Narrative of Blame has its elements of truth. It’s also deeply problematic. Worse, it’s downright dangerous, a tragic case of Democrats betraying their own democracy. Let’s take a look at the Narrative of Blame’s major problems:

A presidential race is just that: a race. It’s a competition, not a coronation. Hillary Clinton was indeed the most qualified candidate, but that doesn’t mean that she automatically deserved to win. (Back in 2008, didn’t John McCain have more experience than Barack Obama?) So who’s responsible for Hillary’s loss? Certainly not Hillary herself. So it’s Bernie Sanders’s fault. And it’s Jill Stein’s fault. Add Donald Trump to that list and the argument makes perfect sense: had Hillary Clinton run for president completely unopposed, she probably would have won the election.

The Narrative of Blame assumes that anyone voting for Sanders or Stein would have cast a vote for Clinton if only her left-leaning opponents hadn’t shown up and ruined everything. But the facts simply don’t bear out that argument. Omri Ben-Shahar of Forbes Magazine writes: “…Hillary Clinton was less attractive to the traditional Democratic base of urban, minorities, and educated voters.” In other words, voter turnout for Clinton was low. Significant numbers of traditional Democrats found staying at home preferable to voting for Hillary. Add good a old fashioned dose of voter suppression to the mix and you’ve got a recipe for a Trump victory.

The Narrative of Blame alternately assumes that anyone voting for Sanders or Stein should have cast a vote for Clinton because she had the best chance of beating Donald Trump. Well, it’s true. Clinton did have the best chance. But for some people that reason wasn’t enough. Feel free to dismiss the folks who saw HRC’s history of free trade, right to work, anti-union, pro-Wall Street, super predator, tough on crime history as the ultimate deal breaker. But if you want to defeat Donald Trump in four years? You’re gonna need those folks. Hate them all you want, but the brutal outcome of this last election prove that you’re going to need them, and in very large numbers. What’s your plan for winning them over? With dismissive, ageist prods to shut up and get with the program? That strategy didn’t work out so well this time, did it?

The Narrative of Blame grabs at cheap fallacies like the ad hominem attack. It’s not enough to take issue with Sanders’s and Stein’s actions or policies. Let’s go after their corrupt motives, which we know about because…well, we just do. Was Sanders’s support for Clinton “half-hearted”? Yes, I’m sure it was. You might purse your lips if a bunch of leaked emails proved that the DNC had actively worked against your campaign. Is Jill Stein a narcissist? My god, who the hell cares? Do you know a politician who isn’t self-absorbed? You want character references? Fine, I’ll give you one: when Bernie Sanders lost the Democratic nomination, Jill Stein offered to step aside as the Green Party candidate and let him run in her place. Sanders declined, instead honoring his pledge to support the nominee for the Democratic Party. If you want to start sliming someone’s character, why not join the Republican party and start shrieking about Clinton’s emails? At least you’ll finally have the satisfaction of being on the winning side.

The Narrative of Blame is undemocratic. It favors the Democratic Party over the democratic country. To decry the Electoral College while urging progressive candidates not to run, or badgering people to vote for a candidate whom they find unacceptable? That’s not just un-democratic: it’s deeply hypocritical. If your only interest is getting a Democrat into the Oval Office, that is certainly your prerogative. But at least be honest and admit that you – like your Republican enemies – are choosing partisanship over democracy.

This, then, is the final fallacy of the Narrative of Blame. It fails to recognize the greatest tragedy of 2016: our democratic institutions failed us – or more accurately, we failed our democratic institutions. Hillary Clinton won the popular vote, but the Electoral College – an institution created in part to protect us from opportunistic demagogues – will make sure that Donald Trump is our next president.

Moreover, millions of people who wanted to vote – and tried to vote – were unable to cast their ballots due to voter suppression. And after all that, the Democratic Party’s most partisan supporters continue to marginalize progressive voices and candidates who work for social justice outside of our broken two-party system. Malcolm X once said that he preferred the white conservative over the white liberal because at least the white conservative showed his teeth. If more democracy threatens you, you’re perfectly free to tear down the reputations and rights of those who dare to use their voices and votes to encroach upon your all-important agenda. But have a little integrity and start showing us all your teeth.

Before the dawn of the written word, ancient Greeks told the tale of the self-besotted Narcissus, eternally gazing upon the reflection of his sweet and comely visage. But imagine what Narcissus could have done with Facebook. Or Buzz Feed. Or Quiz Bone. Then, oh then, might his sweet and beguiling likeness have been reflected back into his own hypnotic eyes by every computer screen and website upon our ever shrinking planet. For when we look into the the abyss of the ubiquitous Facebook Quiz, we see reflected back our inner most natures, our selves, and our souls. Which character from Harry Potter are you? Which Beatle? Or Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader? The list is as endless as Narcissus’s own self love. But as the man from the Underground famously once said: there are some things which a man is afraid to admit… even to himself. With that in mind, The Autumning Empire is both proud and afraid to present 12 Facebook Quizzes that neither you nor Narcissus will ever, ever take. So don’t look too closely into that river of pop culture; you never know where you might fall!

12. Which David Brooks New York Times Op Ed Article Are You?

How about the one that’s poorly written and cites absolutely no facts to support its dominant culture bias? You know. That one.

11. Which STD Are You?

Aw man! I was really hoping for chlamydia! But instead I got non-gonococcal urethritis. Can I take that quiz again?

10. Which State Representative From South Dakota Are You?

Wait. There’s more than one Dakota?

9. Which Shakespeare “Problem Play” Are You?

I’m sorry! Do you have a problem with All’s Well That Ends Well?

8. Which Lame-Ass, Middle Of The Road Liberal Excuse For Barack Obama Are You?

I was shooting for, “He inherited a big mess,” but instead I got, “The job of the president is very, very hard.”

7. Which Broken New Year’s Resolution Are You?

Wait, is it February already? God, I am such a loser. Jesus.

6. Which Genocidal Dictator Are You?

Not happy with Pol Pot, huh? Who did you want? Hitler? Oh my god, you did want Hitler, didn’t you? That is just…I’m sorry. I really have to go back to my cubicle. Now.

Wow! The 2014 Oscar nominees have just been announced, and nobody is more excited than The Autumning Empire!

But how can we express our excitement, especially through social media where our opinions are so highly valued and so thoroughly masticated, swallowed, and digested? Never fear! The Autumning Empire is here with your very own Academy Award Social Media Mad Lib! Simply cut and paste the Mad Lib below, insert the appropriate parts of speech and numbers into those parenthetical sections, and presto! You have an opinion! Better hurry, though! You wouldn’t want to be bested by your “friends” now, would you? There’s lots of “nominees,” “but” “only” “one” “winner”!

2014 Social Media Oscar Mad Lib!

(INTERJECTION)! So (ADJECTIVE) that (CRITICALLY ACCLAIMED BLOCKBUSTER) got (LOW DOUBLE DIGIT #) Oscar Nominations! That’s (ADVERB ENDING IN “LY”) (ADJECTIVE)! And kudos to (CRITICALLY ACCLAIMED FILM ABOUT SLAVERY THAT NOT MANY PEOPLE HAVE SEEN BUT EVERYONE NOW FEELS OBLIGATED TO WATCH) was right behind with (HIGH SINGLE DIGIT #) nominations! You gotta hand it to the Academy: they really (VERB) about (ADJECTIVE) people!

But what’s up with (ROBERT REDFORD)? Why’d they (VERB) him? That Academy! Every time they just (VERB) him and (VERB) him and (VERB) him! He was so good in “Barefoot in the Park”! I’m sure he was just as good in (THAT FILM I KEEP MEANING TO SEE BUT NEVER WILL). Oh well! Just goes to show you that the Oscars (ADVERB) get it (ADJECTIVE)!

Well, I’ll still be (VERB ENDING IN “ING”) them anyway, if only for the (PLURAL NOUN DESCRIBING CULTURAL SIGN OF DECADENCE AND AESTHETIC DECAY THAT MAJOR MEDIA OUTLETS AND THEIR CONSUMERS ACTUALLY CONSIDER NEWS)! Pop (PREPOSITION) the popcorn! It’s Show Time!

This was supposed to be a list. You know, one of those pop culture end-of-year lists. I had planned on calling it, “Five Most Important Things That Breaking Bad taught us in 2013.” It seemed apt. 2013’s end may signify any number of cultural milestones, but it’s an understatement to say the that final season of AMC’s Breaking Bad is one of the most important.

But I didn’t get far with my list. Well, that’s not exactly true. I got really far with just one item. Don’t get me wrong; Breaking Bad will continue to teach us many things beyond the year 2013. But as I tried to piece together what is unique about this program’s remarkable five-year run, the most important item on my list became the only thing. Here then is the top one thing that Breaking Bad taught us in 2013.

1. Sentimentality Corrupts Great Art

Breaking Bad excelled in many areas. But it also avoided lots of unnecessary mistakes. Narrative fiction has a host of pernicious traps that lie in wait for all who dare the journey. And the most pervasive of these traps, the one that snares the most wily and intrepid of storytellers, is the ancient snare of sentimentality.

I don’t want to go too far here. Art and sentimentality are not mutually exclusive. There’s nothing wrong with the two of them getting in bed for an occasional drunken fling. But the minute they start shacking up, or god forbid getting engaged or even married, it’s a sure fire sign of disaster. Yeah, I know. Dickens and Capra were masters of sentimentality. But these were not men; they were sorcerers tampering with a dark, seductive magic that most of us just can’t handle.

Vince Gilligan instinctively understands this truth. With Breaking Bad, he and his team created a world where viewers became deeply and emotionally involved without ever having to feel…well, dirty. Breaking Bad never cheats. Walter White, Jesse Pinkman, Skyler, and Hank all come off as real people, people we feel that we know. And we care about them, in spite – or perhaps because – of their deep and tragic failures.

Those of us who enjoyed and endured the last appearance of Matt Smith on Doctor Who know how important it is for an actor’s departure or series’ end to come with a sense of closure. But what does this mean, and how is that sense of completion achieved? Usually by indulging in our culture’s favorite pastime: looking backward. Unfortunately, the past’s seductive landscape is mired in the sweet and enveloping quicksand of sentimentality. Remember when? Remember how? Wasn’t that funny? Wasn’t that great? Wasn’t that – oh, damn it all to hell, I promised myself that I just wouldn’t cry!

The fact that Breaking Bad avoided this quicksand tells us everything we need to know. After lying to, exploiting, and all but destroying his family for an Empire of Meth, a broken Walter White speaks with his wife Skyler one last time. Like the swan songing protagonists before him, Walt attempts to answer the question: what did this journey mean? But he’s cut off by his wife, whose interjection triggers this painful, quiet exchange:

Skyler: If I have to hear…one more time…that you did this for the family-

Walt: I did it for me. I liked it. I was good at it. And I was really…I was alive.

In fifty-nine seconds and twenty-eight words, Walter White gives his wife and viewers what we’ve been dying to hear for five whole seasons: the whole truth and nothing but.

What does Walter White receive in exchange for his frankness? The hope that his wife might not go to prison. A few precious seconds visiting his daughter’s crib side. And one last, secret look from afar at his bitterly estranged son. Throughout the series’ run, I found just about every scene between Walts senior and junior all but unbearable to watch. Perhaps it’s because I’m a dad myself, but I found something deeply unsettling and tragic in this father’s betrayal of his son. Even Walt’s relationship with Jesse, his all but adopted son, played out with greater fairness and equity. At some point every boy must watch his greatest idol fall, and we saw it happen at its most poignant and wrenching.

Walter White’s final farewell to his family leaves the viewers with a host of unanswered questions. Does Skyler forgive him? Do we forgive him? Can we forgive him? Do we want to forgive him? Are we even in a position to forgive, since time and again we freely handed over our sympathies this manipulator, liar, and murderer? Once upon a time, this game was played with the sly and cunning mastery of Alfred Hitchcock; Breaking Bad took it one step further by mapping out the suspense over a five year period.

The Walt and Skyler farewell is but one of countless similar exchanges seen over the series’ run. Virtually every deeply emotional, heartfelt moment is punctuated with at least one asterisk. As a result, our own emotional responses to the scene may ormaynot mirror those of the on-screen characters. We are therefore required to make our own decisions about how to respond. This makes for volatile, painful viewing. If the creators of the show aren’t telling me how to feel, then I’m sort of on my own, then, aren’t I? By demanding that we examine our loyalties and feelings, Breaking Bad held the mirror up to nature, and in so doing, avoided the dark arts and sweet seductions of sentimentality’s lure.

Art, at its best, provokes doubt. Sentimentality, at its worst, demands belief. This demand is firm and unconditional; you must believe, you will believe, and believe it right now. Believe that fairies are real. Believe that true love conquers all. Believe that if you just try your best, you can make it here in America. And if you don’t believe? If you decide to get all cocky and bow out? Go ahead. Do it. Protest the manipulation. But you’ll come off like an awful spoilsport, won’t you? No one gets thanked at a rained out picnic. And if it’s hard for you to believe? Hey, don’t worry. There’s an arsenal of weapons just waiting to bludgeon you into willing and passive submission. The swelling orchestra. The tearful close up. The supremely accomplished actor like Tom Hanks, who is so well practiced at giving your heartstrings that firm and encouraging tug. Come on! It’s just a movie. Or a TV show. Or a song. Why over intellectualize it? Why intellectualize it at all? Can’t you just sit back, relax, and enjoy it?

Breaking Bad’s steadfast, disciplined refusal to go this route made it one of the most emotionally complicated narratives I’ve experienced in a very long time. The show was not cold. Indeed, it’s hard for me to think of any story that surpasses Breaking Bad in its invitation to gut wrenching empathy and an all but impossible compassion. The program was never lazy, and led its viewers by example. More importantly, it respected us by refusing to dictate what we should believe or feel. That’s more than you can say for most TV shows and movies. Strange. We’d never let a parent or partner tell us what to feel , yet we’re perfectly comfortable putting that responsibility in the hands of complete strangers, and paying them handsomely for the privilege.

Look, I cried at the end of E.T. right along with the rest of you, so I’m sorry if this tirade makes me sound like a heartless bastard. But history tends to be pretty tough on cultures that are addicted to sentiment. And if the first thirteen years predicts anything about the next eighty-seven, then 21st century America is in for a brutal beating at the angry hands of history. We can only hope that Breaking Bad will be counted in the great and final tally. Then, historians of the future can look backwards and say, “For one five year moment, the Autumning Empire held up the mirror, took a hard look, and just once had the courage to say: ‘This thing of darkness I acknowledge mine.’”

I’m pitching a script idea for Doctor Who. This mind-bending tale will be the first full episode starring Peter Capaldi’s newly minted 12th Doctor. Episode One has him kidnapping Doctor Who’s head writer/show runner Steven Moffat from the BBC, and bringing him back to ancient Greece, where the two men meet Aristotle. There, the great philosopher and author of Poetics teaches Steven Moffat how to construct a plot.

Stay with me now, because it doesn’t stop there: get ready for the paradoxical, timey wimey twist. Unfortunately, the trip to antiquity leaves Doctor Who‘s head writer un-persuaded. Apparently, Steven Moffat isn’t impressed by the idea that a character’s actions should be logical, and follow naturally from the actions that precede them. And so the Doctor – in a desperate bid to save his own creative master (and indeed, himself) – travels forward to the BBC studios of 2007. And that’s where Steven Moffat meets a younger version of…himself. Forty-five seconds of light-hearted comic relief ensue as the two of them realize: “Whoa! This is really happening!” Then Moffat 07 shows Moffat 13 some of the best Doctor Who episodes ever written: “The Empty Child,” “The Doctor Dances,” “The Girl in the Fireplace,” and of course “Blink.” It’s a poignant moment. After all, Moffat is (or was) the author of all of these wonderful stories. But before this episode swells to its paradoxical, sentimental climax, the Doctor forces both Moffats to do the same thing I had the misfortune of doing last night: watch the worst Doctor Who Christmas special ever made. “The Time of the Doctor.” God bless us. Everyone.

“But wait!” you may reasonably interject. “The worst ever? How is that possible? Haven’t we already seen the worst Doctor Who Christmas special? Wasn’t that ‘Voyage of the Damned’? Or was it ‘Runaway Bride’? Or maybe it was that very special Doctor Who ‘Christmas Carol.’” Ah Jesus, why pick favorites? Aren’t allDoctor Who Christmas specials terrible?* Doesn’t each inhabit its own special Whoniverse of never ending awfulness? Why not be generous? After all, it’s the holiday season.

But no. No no no no no no no. This is different. And it’s bad. Very bad. “The Time of the Doctor” is awful in ways that the others just can’t match. See, it’s not only that the show’s content is exceptionally poor. No, what is so deeply troubling about this story – if you can even call this thing a story – is that it seems to be not an aberration, but a new standard, an ominous harbinger of the terrible stuff to come.

Many years ago, in the middle of viewing an unforgivably bad film, my date turned to me and said, “Some movies you forget after you see them. This is a movie that you forget whileyou’rewatchingit.” So it is with “The Time of the Doctor.” I pity the professional TV critic whose job it is to write plot summaries scotch taped to opinion. It’s telling that in this case, many reviewers didn’t even bother with the plot. Tim Martin of The Telegraph simply threw up his hands, and tried instead to figure out what the hell the Doctor Who people were thinking:

…I imagine Steven Moffat and co frantically entering text into a huge and messy Word document marked “Later”. Every time a narrative lapse gets handwaved away, every time an episode thunks to a halt with its story strands waggling, every time the Gordian plot-knot gets sonic-screwdrivered into submission for the 60-minute limit, the writers just tap the remnants into Later. What’s the deal with the creepy brain-wiping creatures known as The Silence? Later. The name of the Doctor? Later. The Catholic Church as intergalactic paramilitaries? Later. The 13-regeneration limit hanging over the series since the Sixties? Yup, stick it in Later.

A writer’s job is to tell a story. Once upon a time, Steven Moffat did this brilliantly. It’s hard to imagine Aristotle finding fault with any of the aforementioned ground breaking Moffatepisodes. Indeed, the world’s first drama critic probably would have delighted in these dark and imaginative morality tales; Aristotle would have suspended disbelief.

But lowering the “threshold of acceptability” does not mean throwing it out altogether. Yet this is precisely what Moffat did when he crossed his own threshold from an occasional Doctor Who scriptwriter to the man in charge of the show. Moffat’s deal with the devil appears to have been made on the installment plan: “The Eleventh Hour” – Matt Smith’s first full episode as the 11th Doctor – is a beautiful piece of writing. But the seed of perdition had already been sewn: the so-called “Crack in the Universe,” the first of Moffat’s incomprehensible story arcs, eventually severed disbelief’s suspension cords, and brought the whole thing crashing to the ground with an overhyped, sickening thud.

And then came the Murder of the Doctor. And the Impossible Girl. And the endless barrage of mind bending paradoxes that turned the rule of the Blue Box completely upside down. For all of its bells and whistles, a typical Doctor Who episode is now smaller on the inside than it is on the out.

Nowhere is this more depressingly clear than in “The Time of the Doctor.” Moffat appears to have abandoned the bloated ambition of his overarching story lines – which on some level, you have to sort of admire for their Gen X brand of Dickensian hubris. In their place he’s put a checklist. Weeping Angels? Check. Daleks? Check. Small spark of sexual tension with slender twenty-something companion that won’t ever go anywhere? Check. Because Steven Moffat’s not just the Doctor Who head writer and show runner. He’s the driving force behind a multi-million dollar entertainment juggernaut. And the business of show business is business. You don’t believe me? Check out the presents under my family Christmas tree: Doctor Who t-shirts. Doctor Who key chains. Doctor Who 50th anniversary encyclopedia retrospective 270 page book things. Doctor Who Christmas ornaments. Man, no wonder these guys are so big on Christmas specials; what better time to push all that profitable promotional merchandise? I guess taking charge of a business means you itemize, prioritize, and list, list, list – even when it comes to the sacred art of story making.

Don’t get me wrong. I like BBC One as much as the next guy, and if I’m doing my part to keep them afloat, who am I to feel guilty? But the sun must eventually set on the Whovian Empire, and that day may come sooner than we think. Every show has its worst episode. But this one should – and could – have been better. Come on! Didn’t Matt Smith deserve a better send off? And to the man’s credit, he all but saved the sinking ship with his heartfelt, odd ball, son-of-Crispin-Glover antics that have made him so beloved of fans and newcomers alike. “Matt Smith – he is astonishing!” cried the 7th Doctor, Sylvester McCoy. “His face has so much experience in it, and his performance is just excellent in how you feel how ancient he is.”** Too bad Moffat couldn’t give Smith a better script when he said his bon voyage.

So goodbye Doctor Eleven. Hello Doctor Twelve. Is it just me, or is the midnight hour for this franchise beginning to feel a little bit ominous? Peter Capaldi has all the talent, humor, skill, and gravitas to make this Doctor work. Too bad that Moffat doesn’t appear to share that confidence. Capaldi’s first appearance felt…well, a little frenzied. A quick fix it to be discarded in that ever growing “Later” file. Perhaps Moffat has finally become lost in the Byzantine labyrinth he’s been constructing since 2010.

The most telling line of dialogue in this special comes from Capaldi himself: “Just one question. Do you know how to fly this thing?” This is literally the Doctor referring to his TARDIS, but it might as well be Steven Moffat inquiring about the overall direction of the show. Jesus Christ, does anyone know how to fly this thing anymore? If not, we can only hope that the TARDIS crash lands in Greece, 335 BCE. There, while the Doctor repairs his time machine, Aristotle can repair Steven Moffat by teaching him what he used to know so well: how to write a good story. If and when that happens, perhaps Moffat can tend to that ever hemorrhaging and ever shrinking Whoniverse by finally closing up the crack.

*Oh, alright. Most are terrible. A friend pointed out to me that “The Doctor, the Widow and the Wardrobe,” is not in fact terrible, and after a another look, I’m inclined to agree that it is indeed quite charming. But does one good deed justify a legion of atrocities? You be the judge.

Time is relative, especially when it comes to pop culture, and most especially when it comes to fiction. Even the most timeless classic bears the unmistakable imprint of its age. Sure, Robert Altman’s M*A*S*H* is set in Korea, but it’s really about Vietnam. You don’t need to be a student of film or history to know Baz Luhrman’s The Great Gatsby wasn’t made during the decade in which it’s set. Even William Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar tells us far more about Elizabethan succession anxiety than the fall of the Roman Republic.

And so it is with Doctor Who. For half a century, the popular BBC series has given us hundreds of episodes in which its eponymous hero transcends the very the laws of time itself. But here’s the rub: none of those episodes, not one of them, can share in the Doctor’s vast and mighty power. Ironically, each story is trapped in its own fixed place in time – a mirror of its age, a slave to the decade, and sometimes the year, in which it was made. Call it Time And Relative Dimension In Culture. In the end, that big blue box and its long-suffering pilot are time’s servants, not its masters.

So what exactly are we talking about? Hairstyles? Special effects? Not so special effects? Fezzes and bowties and big knitted scarves? Well, sure, I guess we could talk about that. But Doctor Who deserves a closer look. Once considered a cult classic, the franchise’s 50th Anniversary Special now holds the Guinness world record for the largest audience of a simulcast TV drama. No longer a rarified artifact of geek culture, Doctor Who is now mainstream, the abstract and not so brief chronicle of ourtime.

When talking about Doctor Who, we’re actually looking at two distinct cultural phenomena. The first began as a BBC series in 1963, and ended 26 years later in 1989. The second Who phenomena* is a J.J. Abrams era reboot (or in this case, regeneration) that began in 2005, and now grips both sides of the Atlantic. What does the new Who look like? Whenever a franchise gets recycled, its producers come a courtin’ with this solemn oath: we’re gonna take this thing in a whole new direction, AND be totally respectful of the series’ past. The results are sometimes ridiculous and unfortunate. (Like Disney’s The Lone Ranger.) But back in 2005, Doctor Who’sexecutive producer/head writer Russell T. Davies actually kept his promise. Armed with a creative team steeped in Whovian mythology, Davies kept many of the original show’s trademarks: the sonic screwdriver, the mechanical Daleks, the original soundtrack, and the beloved, squeaky TARDIS.

But the ninth incarnation of the series’ Doctor was something fans hadn’t exactly seen before. The froofy costumes and avuncular mad scientist affects were stripped away. In their place stood Christopher Eccleston, a well-known and respected film actor with a long, impressive resume. If anyone would take this show in a new direction, it would be its newly regenerated protagonist.

He was a sober figure. “… (Eccleston) has a very serious screen image,” said Davies. “There’s a lot of fun and humour in his portrayal, but of course when the Doctor is angry or passionate we get that other side of Christopher, which has helped make him one of Britain’s finest actors.”

In some ways, the 9th Doctor took the character in a direction that wasn’t new, but very, very old. Fans listening carefully could hear the faint patrician echo of Doctors One and Three. The 9th Doctor is a man of grim determination. His occasional flashes of humor barely mask the grimace of a formidable, sometimes heartless adversary. “Have pity!” cries his arch enemy, an imprisoned Dalek. “Why should I?” answers the Doctor, torturing his prisoner by process of electrocution, “You never did.” Eccleston’s is a Doctor of war, the last of his race, a scarred and lonely soldier whose square, singular focus on the present is understandable when we hear his apocalyptic vision of past and future:

You think it’ll last forever. People and cars and concrete. But it won’t. One day it’s all gone. Even the sky. My planet’s gone. It’s dead. It burned like the Earth. It’s just rocks and dust. Before its time.

The 9th Doctor, then, is a man of the time and culture that spawned him. In January of 2005 – the only year Eccleston played the Doctor – George W. Bush took the oath for his second term as President of the United States. Three months later, British Prime Minister Tony Blair got sworn in for term number three. There’s a long list of men and women responsible for the bloody, pointless war in Iraq, and Bush and Blair sit right on top. One month and two days later after Blair was sworn in, bombs ripped through London’s public transportation system, leaving 52 people dead, and many more injured. Blair blamed Islamic extremists for the act, and – sounding an awful lot like Doctor Number Nine – vowed: “We will not be intimidated.”

The 9th Doctor has many moments of warmth and compassion. But even then, his message is clear: things are as they must be. When his companion, Rose Tyler, manipulates the Doctor to take her back in time so she can prevent her father’s death, the Time Lord chastises her: “My entire planet died, my whole family. Do you think it never occurred to me to go back and save them?” His acts of heroism live in the shadow of tragedy’s looming inevitability. After saving a relatively small group of Londoners during the 1941 Blitz, he cries in a fit of messianic triumph: “Everybody lives, Rose! Justthisonce! Everybody lives!” It’s the 9th Doctor’s finest hour, yet he can’t help but remind us that it probably won’t happen again.

Public and critical reception for this darker Doctor were, for the most part, positive, and the series was renewed for another season. But Eccleston stepped down. For all he brought to the role, Doctor Who just wasn’t his gig. His successor was quickly announced: a thirty-four year old Scottish actor named David Tennant. Tennant had followed the show since childhood, and seemed remarkably eager for the challenge. But following Eccleston’s act appears to have been a daunting prospect. “…there’s an awful lot to live up to here. I know everyone loved Chris, and so did I, but hopefully I won’t disappoint people.”

He needn’t have worried. A 2012 poll conducted by Entertainment Weekly would later show David Tennant to be the most popular Doctor of all time. But our past was his future, and even the show’s creative team found it necessary to prove Tennant man enough for the job. In fact, Tennant’s first appearance has him wondering aloud what “sort of man” he is. His final answer comes with an Eastwoodesque sneer, as he sends an enemy plunging to death: “No second chances. I’m that sort of a man.”

What makes the 10th the most popular Doctor ever? Internet theories are far-flung and ubiquitous, but I think that it boils down to this: fans are generous with Tennant because he’s so generous with them. If you want to see a man in love with his job, watch some 10th Doctor episodes, especially the earlier ones. Here was a Doctor who reached out to his allies, his adversaries, and his audiences. Even if this Doctor isn’t your favorite, Tennant’s sheer charisma and joie de vivre are pretty tough to resist.

But charm has its price, and the fee for Tennant’s was exacted on the surprisingly early occasion of his fifth appearance as the Doctor. In “School Reunion,” he joins forces with old companions Sarah Jane Smith and the robot dog, K-9. It is a fond and sentimental backward look at classic Doctor Who episodes, especially those from the vintage Tom Baker years. Warm and fuzzy would become a hallmark of Tennant’s Doctor. Try to imagine Chirstopher Eccleston picking Elisabeth Selden off the ground, beaming “My Sarah Jane!” as the music swells to a heart warming climax.

And that’s where the trouble begins. Not all of Eccleston’s episodes are great – or even good – but like their hero, most focus on a reasonably self-contained plot line. Not so with Tennant. The stories, the Doctor, and the actor who plays him become increasingly sentimental, self-absorbed, and above all: self-referential. Three seasons of the 10th Doctor feel less like a coherent story arc, and more like the uncovering of treasured family knick-knacks. “Hey look! The Cybermen! Why don’t we bring them back? The Sontarans? Aw, man! They were awesome! Why don’t we do one episode – or two, or three, or four – about them? That’d be cool!” Tennant’s tenure, then, is Doctor Who’s post-modern era, unceasingly asking the burning question of our age: remember when?

By the time Tennant was replaced by Matt Smith in 2010, Doctor Who’s course was set toforward into the past. New executive producer/head writer Stephen Moffat accelerated the pace: a 10th Doctor episode pays tribute to the memories of several seasons or episodes past; the 11th Doctor episodes get sentimental over events that took place a mere five minutes ago.

But when you’re watching an 11th Doctor episode, it’s kind of hard to figure out what exactly did happen five minutes ago. I realize that Steven Moffat’s taken quite a beating for his rambling, incoherent story arcs, but so far that just hasn’t stopped him. Jesus Christ, what the hell are we to make of some of these episodes? If the 10th Doctor’s all about the sentimental journey, then an 11th Doctor story such as “The Pandorica Opens” is a horribly botched magic trick, an Escher copy gone wrong, an awesome late night brainstorm that got filmed before anyone bothered to script it.

Call me old fashioned, but science fiction does not give you license to make up a bunch of random rules as you go along, and then break them whenever it’s convenient. That’s not science fiction, it’s bad fiction, and Steven Moffat ought to know better. This man is the author of “The Empty Child,” “The Doctor Dances,” and “Blink,” justly hailed as some of the best Doctor Who episodes ever made. “Blink” in particular is a textbook example of sci fi at its best. It begins by establishing a rigidly defined set of rules, then insisting that its characters play by all of them. The result is a taut, suspenseful tale in which the Doctor (not even the episode’s protagonist) has limited power to assist the people most in need of his help. It seems incredible that this script was penned by the same guy who gave us “The Big Bang,” “The Impossible Astronaut,” and the eminently unforgivable “Let’s Kill Hitler.” But perhaps that crack in the universe is a metaphor for Moffat’s bifurcated creative psyche.

But there’s plenty of blame to go around. The hands of Russell T. Davies are also steeped in the blood of bad fiction. His overweening 10th Doctor space operas like “The Last of the Time Lords,” “The Stolen Earth,” “Journey’s End,” and “The End of Time,” sorely test the patience of any reasonable viewer in search of a story that makes one ounce of logical sense.

Davies and Moffat are smart, imaginative men. Why have they written so many bad scripts? The answer lies in the much hyped, much watched 50th anniversary special. Like most Doctor Who episodes, “Day of the Doctor” is a mixed bag. Fans of David Tennant and the quirky, unpredictable Matt Smith can’t help but smile at the sight of these two eager hams finally sharing the screen. It’s a wonderful reminder of what these men bring to the show that Eccleston never could: pure love for the role and the series. Let’s be thankful that Eccleston passed on the chance to appear on the special: he would have been an awful drag and a dour old chaperone. Science fiction does not have the right to be bad, but it does have the right to fun, and even – occasionally – silly.

And David Tennant? Matt Smith? Those guys are silly. Really silly. “Why are you pointing your screwdrivers like that?” cries John Hurt’s so called ‘War Doctor.’ “They’re scientific instruments, not water pistols!” And indeed, Doctors 10 and 11 are just a couple of boys, aren’t they? A pair of lads having fun, intergalactic Peter Pans who whisk their doe-eyed Wendy companions from one Never-Never Land to the next, clinging to the TARDIS as a fountain of youth in the hope that they’ll never grow up.

Is that a bad thing? I don’t know. Probably not. The youthful impishness is what draws us to the 10th and 11th Doctors. But perhaps we should be troubled. Nostalgia – such a mainstay of current pop culture – is rooted in the fear of growing older. The same is true of Doctor Who’s incomprehensible storylines. It’s not just that they’re terrible, it’s the way in which they’re terrible. Here’s the basic formula:

Some awful catastrophe threatens to bring about the end of an important character/the planet/the human race/the entire universe.

The catastrophe almost occurs. In many cases, it does occur. Either way, all is lost.

A miracle saves the day, preventing, or even – and this is what happens with far greater frequency in later episodes – reversing the catastrophe. No rational explanation; it just simply happens. No major character dies (unless it is the end of the season and time to replace an actor).

So it is for “Day of The Doctor.” Fans are finally brought to scene of the Time War, the battle that destroyed the Doctor’s home planet, Gallifrey. It is the site of the genocide that deeply haunted the Doctor Number Nine. And so, when we’re finally brought there, to the tragic moment of irrevocable loss, we discover…

…that it never happened. The war? The genocide? Oops! My bad. We just thought that it did. According to Wikipedia, the episode’s three Doctors: “freeze the planet in time within a secondary/pocket universe.” Then, through another act of intergalactic magic, the doctors explain that they’re going to forget that they’ve ever done this (so that all the previous episodes still make sense). You got that? They’ll remember the genocide, but we’ll all know that it never really happened.

Now again, I hate to sound old fashioned, but why choose to tell a story about genocide if you aren’t prepared to deal with it? It’s one thing to miraculously bring one or two characters back to life through a little bit of sci-fi magic. But genocide? Really? Whatever, man. I guess it’s just a TV show. Just goes to show that we’ve come a long way since 2005. With far fewer troops in Iraq** and Afghanistan, the trans-Atlantic mainstream is no longer pre-occupied with global politics, or – more importantly – the First World’s responsibility for how they play out. The Gallifrean genocide myth was created at a time when it was impossible for anyone to ignore the realities of war. Now, if you have the luxury of being able to indulge a binge on Netflix, it is entirely possible to ignore those realities. But the folks at Doctor Who have been stuck with a genocide narrative that audiences now don’t want to hear. Better to just pretend that it never even happened. This is where nostalgia and deux ex machina endings work together: they encourage us to selectively remember the past, and anesthetize us to the horrors of the present.

But as of Christmas, 2013, there’s going to be a new Doctor in town. It’s impossible to predict with any certainty what kind of change the 12th Doctor will bring, but one thing’s for sure: Peter Capaldi’s no Peter Pan. Moffat has insisted that the fifty-five year old character actor is the only man he considered for the part of the 12th Doctor. Indeed, Moffat seems ready to take the show in a completely different direction, promising fans that “now it’s time for the old beast to snarl.”

Really? Wow! Who’s he going to snarl at? And why? I guess we’ll know soon enough. And like most Doctor Who fans, I’m willing to sit through just about anything. But if I have any hope for the 12th Time Lord, it’s this: that somewhere in his voice we hear a little bit of the old snarl from 2005. Escapism is great, but this series, in its best moments, has shown us that we can do better. Maybe Doctor Who is finally ready to liberate itself from this fixed point in time, and start telling us truths we might not want to hear.

This week, members of Congress will make what is possibly the most important vote of their careers. They will decide whether or not to support President Obama’s call for military action against the oppressive government of Syria. It’s a momentous choice, and while some legislators have already made up their minds, for those who are still on the fence, the decision is pure agony.

It need not be. The choice is stark and simple. The United States is the world’s greatest – and perhaps only – superpower. We have an obligation to stand firm against the forces of evil. We cannot sit idly by while a nation commits human rights atrocities. America must act, and it must act now.

But not against Syria. True, its government has used chemical weapons against its own people. True, its army routinely detains, tortures, beats, and kills unarmed civilians. True, Syrian President Bashar al-Assad has turned his country into a charnel house, a black hole of human rights, and an international pariah.

But there yet looms a larger threat: a rogue nation that puts our very planet on the very brink of collapse and ruin. Aggressive and belligerent to the point of bellicosity, this country repeatedly ignores international calls for multilateralism, cooperation, and basic human decency. It chokes the world in a vice-like grip of greed and insatiable avarice. It is the number one threat to our global security, and yet accountable to no one.

It is the United States of America.

We cannot let this stand. Americans must stand firm against tyranny, imperialism, brute force and naked aggression. Diplomacy has failed. The choice is clear. The time has come for the United States of America to take action against the United States of America.

Let me be clear: I am not asking Congress for a declaration of war. This will bear no resemblance to Afghanistan, Iraq, or even Libya. There will be no boots on the ground. But the time to move is now.

Is the American public ready for this? More ready than you might think. 49% of all Americans support a strike against our own military. Besides, when it comes to right and wrong, you don’t go around asking permission. You’ve got stand tall and be tough. But if hearts and minds needs be moved, so be it. The United States has never shirked whipping up public support when it comes to demonizing our enemies. And since the United States’ greatest enemy is the United States, it’s only fair to lay before the public the worst of our government’s innumerable atrocities:

The United States is a Human Rights Pariah

The United States is one of 195 signatories to the Geneva Convention. Yet the Washington Post identifies 367 men who are currently being detained in the Guantanamo Bay detention camp. These individuals have not been formally charged with any crime, let alone brought to trial, and many have been there since the camp was established in 2003. Reports of prisoner abuse and torture are rampant. Amnesty International said: “Guantanamo has become the gulag our times, entrenching the notion that people can be detained without any recourse to the law.”

U.S. President Barack Obama promised in his 2008 campaign to close the detention center. Five years later, the camp is still open.

America’s Carbon Footprint is Destroying the World

Believe it or not, the US is not #1 in everything. We rank 38th in healthcare, 17th (in the developed world) for education, and 27th in infant mortality. But as polluters, we run a close second only to China, which produces 6,018 million tons of greenhouse gasses per year, as compared to America’s mere 5,903 million tons.

But did China get there all by itself? No way, baby. Who do you think funds the activities that produce those greenhouse gas emissions? U.S. Corporations, that’s who. Every time you purchase a product with the words “Made In China” engraved on non-recyclable plastic, feel proud that you’ve done your part to contribute to that country’s sky rocketing pollution. Take a look at CNN’s staggering list of U.S. corporations that export jobs to China: Google, Apple, Target, Toys ‘R Us, Verizon, 3M – even American Greetings employs people in China. Ironic, isn’t it? But what a great way to avoid all the pesky labor and environmental restrictions that cut into these corporations’ astronomical profits. So go ahead, People’s Republic: toot your own made-in-China horn as the world’s greatest polluter. Just don’t forget the U.S. companies that help put you on top.

The U.S is a Global Military Menace

In 2011, the United States spent $711 billion on defense. That’s more than the next 13 countries combined, which spent $695 billion. Not $695 each. $695 billion combined. In this area, at least, we are indisputably numero uno.

Now, you’d think that a country that spends this kind of dough on weapons would feel more secure, not less. But that’s not how it’s panned out since the end of the Second World War. From the 1940s to the early 1970s, the U.S. carried out a pointless, bloody, and unpopular war in Vietnam. The American government was a great friend and supporter of Augusto Pinochet, the infamous Chilean dictator who murdered and “disappeared” thousands of peaceful political dissidents. It also supported South Africa’s racist apartheid government, and listed Nelson Mandela’s ANC as a terrorist organization. In the 1980s, the U.S. supported right wing military juntas in Central American countries such as El Salvador and Honduras. In both 1991 and 2003, the United States invaded and waged undeclared wars in Iraq. (The pretense for the second invasion – complicity in the 9/11 attacks and a stockpile of weapons of mass destruction – proved to be one hundred percent false.)

And today? The United States repeatedly carries out drone strikes against no less than seven countries, including Somalia, Yemen, and Pakistan. These attacks have killed hundreds of children. Mark Bowden, author of Black Hawk Down, describes “a whole new depth of outrage,” experienced by those on “the receiving end of the missile,” because “the guy pulling the trigger” is in a “position of safety.” Rather than keeping us safer, Bowden argues that the drone program empowers America’s to act with impunity, and is used as a pretext to commit terrorist acts against civilians. Thus, America is in the awkward position of being a threat to everyone. Even itself.

What do you want? More? How’s this: the United States is a country that spies not only on its enemies, but on its allies and even its own citizens. What does that sound like to you? A beacon of freedom and democracy? Or an eastern European Soviet backed police state?

So when the world is faced with such a monster, who is there to save the day? The United States. Only America can stop America. As the world’s greatest – and perhaps only – superpower, the United States alone has the power to degrade and wipe out the overwhelming strength of its own bloated military.

Now, I’m not suggesting this is going to be easy. As our president is so fond of saying, there are gonna be some tough times ahead. But this is a situation where America simply cannot afford to lose face. As David Gergen says, “The danger is the more reluctant you are, and the more deliberative you are, the danger is you start looking weak.”

I couldn’t agree more. It’s time for us to face the real enemy. And it’s the best of all choices. Striking a blow to America’s military might will involve no collateral damage. Not one bomb need be dropped; no bullet need be fired. Such action will save countless lives abroad, not to mention those of the brave men and women serving in our military. It is time for America to liberate America from the stifling grip of tyranny. Think about what the saved hundreds of billions of dollars in military spending could buy: affordable, single payer healthcare; new roads and bridges; well funded education; and an end to our mounting deficit. Gergen is right: we can’t afford to be weak. The best part is, we can do it without the United Nations or the help of a single other country.

Because in the end, the only one in the world who can put a stop to America’s war machine is America itself. It’s time to get busy. Please contact your senator and congressperson today, and tell them to vote “no” on U.S. military action in Syria.

Wow! Where did all the time go? Seems like summer just got started, and here we are in mid-August! That means it’s not just back to school for students, but for teachers, too! Now, educators, you all know perfectly well that teaching isn’t just a job; it’s a calling! Still, even the most idealistic of our ranks may feel some degree of anxiety as that impending first day approaches. But never fear: The Autumning Empire is here! Let us be your teacher’s assistant with these fifteen indispensable tips to help you prep for the upcoming year:

Re- watch Dead Poets Society, a heartwarming story of a man who achieves what no other teacher has by getting a group of sensitive, privileged, teenage boys from New England to appreciate Western literature.

Enjoy a restorative day at the beach. Gaze at the calming waves. Remember that at any minute melting polar ice caps could create a devastating tsunami that’ll wash you and your loved ones out to sea.

Move to Albuquerque and start cooking meth to help pay for your chemo.

You know that novel that you’ haven’t been writing all summer? Well start writing it. Now.

Become critically injured in a parachuting accident; then have Oscar Goldman’s crack surgery team at the OSI bring you back to life through the miracle of prosthetic bionics.

Remember that there is no higher calling than giving young people the skills they need to pass a standardized state test.

Relax. Nah. Just kidding. I had you there for a second, though, didn’t I?

Make a list of professions that pay better than teaching and require far less education.

Remember The Alamo. Just be careful how you teach it in Arizona or Texas. Seriously. Consider yourself warned.

Follow Jack Black’s example in School of Rock by using students to form a band in which you are the wacky, irreverent front man. That’s really what the students are there for, anyway, isn’t it? To make you look good?

Get out your old copy of Led Zeppelin II and crank it. It may not help. But it sure won’t hurt.

As the anxiety of the impending school year causes you to vomit uncontrollably, comfort yourself with the realization that it’s bringing you this much closer to your summer weight loss goal.

Look at your fading 2008 and 2012 campaign bumper stickers; bitterly realize that your life as an underpaid, overworked professional educator under President Obama is no better than it was under President Bush.

Scream.

August 14, 2013

Disclaimer: this Autumning Empire post is a piece of satire. We neither condone nor recommend the manufacture or consumption of illegal drugs in New Mexico or elsewhere. Similarly, we condemn procrastination, anxiety induced vomiting, and over-rated star vehicles for Robin Williams and Jack Black.